


What We Found is Second to None

by pomme (manta)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Childhood Friends, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Date, Fluff, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Suggestive Themes, alternative universe, bb's first multichap anything whee, will fill in more as i go along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4053823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/pseuds/pomme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brittle, uneven, mismatched. That's how most perceive their relationship. And yet the gears fit together, running like clockwork.</p><p>An ongoing series of prompts written for Kuroken Month.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You and I Rested, Close in Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Kuroken is my Haikyuu!! OTP. My OTP of OTPs. Which makes writing for them, downright terrifying.
> 
> But it's Kuroken Month, and what better way to celebrate than to contribute? Right? Right. *sweats*

**Prompt: Firsts  
**

**First Sleepover**

 

Kenma’s holed up in his room, playing games on his bed as usual, when the doorbell rings.

“Kenma, he’s here!” his mother shouts. Kenma rises up off his stomach with a sigh, and shuffles downstairs.

He’s not excited.

Not that he ever _really_ gets excited all that often, unless it’s about a new game, or beating a particularly difficult level. But he’s even less enthused when he has no say in matters whatsoever- like when he woke up this morning to his mother pulling open the curtains, announcing she’d invited the new neighbours’ son to stay the night.

“Tetsurou-kun’s so polite. So tall, too. Maybe he plays basketball!”

 _Maybe he’ll get you out of the house_ , was the implication.

“But, Mom-“

He’s met Tetsurou, once. Kenma doesn’t remember much, given his vision was halved from peeking around the door. But he recalls a long limbed boy, with gravity defying hair and a natural smirk. “Shy, huh?” He’d nodded at Kenma, at which his mother had laughed and agreed, and Kenma's resented him, just a little, ever since.

What would they talk about? Kenma didn’t know the first thing about basketball, and he certainly couldn’t shoot one. He had seen plenty of movies about sleepovers though; they were giddy, noisy affairs, and his stomach squirmed at the thought of the futon, already laid out in his room. He didn’t like the idea of sharing his sanctuary with a stranger.

But his mother disregarded his protests. “Won’t it be nice to have a friend?” she asked, her smile growing steelier, and Kenma knew the discussion was over.

He opens the door to find Tetsurou leaning against the wall, overnight bag in hand. The air outside smells stale, in the bated breath before a summer storm.

“Hey, Kenma.” Tetsurou waves a lazy hand in greeting, and rolls easily to his feet.

Kenma quickly looks away, fidgeting at the intense scrutiny he feels under that stare, how his name slips so casually out of Tetsurou’s mouth. He stands back to let Tetsurou in, wordlessly pointing at the slippers already placed on the floor.

 

* * *

 

Dinnertime is quiet.

On Kenma's part, that is. He eats with his eyes fixed on his food, while his (treacherous) mother and Tetsurou quickly become as thick as thieves.

"Oh my, that's quite a move! My aunt lives there, and she takes the bullet train when she visits. I've heard the night view is just beautiful."

"It really is," Tetsurou grins, and accepts a huge second helping of the grilled fish she offers him. "There was a huge park near our house, with courts and a pool. My friends and I played volleyball until it got too dark to see, and then we'd lie on the grass and look at the stars."

"Ah, so you play _volleyball_!" Kenma can feel his mother's gaze flick to him and back, as she does when she spies an opportunity. "Maybe you could teach Kenma."

He knows what's coming, and inwardly sighs. Tetsurou is tall, athletic, self assured, and outgoing, like the boys in Kenma's class who are good at sports. He'll look at Kenma with his experienced eye, give him the once over, and make some excuse to laugh the suggestion off. 

It is, when Kenma admits it to himself, humiliating.

"Sure," Tetsurou says, without a missing a beat, and Kenma has to shovel in a mouthful of vegetables to mask his shock. "I'm a strict teacher, though. He's in for a world of pain."

Kenma peeks, just for a second. Tetsurou's smirk has slipped into a leer, removing all doubt he'll follow through with his threat. But he speaks like it isn't painfully obvious Kenma's a tottering, pasty, skinny kid, who's always picked last for teams and has to stand in the front for class photos.

Like Kenma has potential.

"That's fine!" His mother reassures Tetsurou, and Kenma remembers he's supposed to be annoyed with her. "It takes him two days at most to beat any game, you know. He's an incredibly fast learner."

"Even better." Tetsurou's mouth has relaxed back into its trademark curl. "I haven't met anyone around here who plays."

"Moving to a new town, making new friends, going to a new school. It's all a big change, isn't it?"

"It's not so bad, if I get to eat delicious food like this." Tetsurou gestures at the spread on the table, and chuckles along with Kenma's mother. Amidst the laughter, she doesn't catch the stutter in his smirk.

"You're so brave. I can't even think of doing the same thing. Can you, Kenma?"

The other kids at school don't go near Kenma, and sometimes they whisper. But they leave him alone, for the most part.

He thinks of packing his shelves of games away in boxes, taking down the posters he's slowly hung up over the years until his walls groan for mercy. Of leaving this house with the corner in his room that's perfect for whiling away hours on games, and the oven that just fits four apple pies at once. Of never climbing the tree in front of his house again, the one that doesn't make him feel inadequate, with its sturdy branches and a foothold just gentle enough for him to catch.

He can't imagine completely starting over, like a save file abruptly wiped clean.

"No," he whispers, and immediately dives back into his rice.

But out of the corner of his eye, he catches Tetsurou's eyes widening, and the older boy smiles.

 

* * *

 

"Is this what you usually do in the summer?" Tetsurou says, reclining on the futon with his hands behind his head. "TV, games, and comics?"

His words are nearly drowned out by the hammering rain.

TV, games, and comics are what Kenma _always_ does, but he just nods. Which is a step up from his usual treatment of guests by cocooning himself away, but then again, the Kozumes have never had a guest who's specifically here for Kenma.

It's why he headed straight to the living room after dinner, flipping the TV to the gaming tournament he always watched on Tuesdays.

"Kenma, be polite!" His mother tugged the remote away from him, to place it in Tetsurou's grasp; Kenma watched it go with the distressed eyes of the betrayed. "Here, Tetsurou-kun. You're the guest, feel free to switch the channel. What kind of shows do you like?"

But Tetsurou placed the remote on the coffee table with a clack. "I don't mind this one," he said, sprawling onto the two seater like he belonged there. "Looks interesting."

And that was how they passed the evening together, before they were ushered upstairs to bed.

Tetsurou's response should have been enough of a clue, that he doesn't mind adjusting to Kenma's pace. And yet, Kenma still waits on tenterhooks, waits for Tetsurou to make a jab at his hobbies in that drawl, decide he's wrong for liking games so much and not talking to people until he's ready and never going outside if he can help it, like most people he's encountered in his life.

But Tetsurou just shrugs, and Kenma wonders if he'll ever get used to such relaxed acknowledgement of his tendencies, of himself. "Cool. Nice room, by the way."

"Th-thanks."

"So we're sleeping?"

Kenma pulls out his gaming console again. "I'm going to play until I fall asleep," he says to his comforter, very quietly. "You can turn off the light, if you want."

But with a sudden burst of light and the ensuing _boom_ outside, the room is plunged into blackness.

"Oh," says Tetsurou's voice, from somewhere near the floor. "Guess I don't have to now."

Kenma doesn't answer; previously, he saved right before the final boss, and he heads straight into the fight. He plays slowly, carefully, learning from past endless hours of trial-and-error, painstakingly using every health vial with perfect timing and replenishing his magic right after he gets in a good hit. The cobra god's life bar is the lowest Kenma's ever managed to deplete it, pressing buttons to the white noise of rain and Tetsurou's occasional shifting on the futon-

When another peal of thunder makes Kenma jump; he accidentally presses the button that takes him to the user menu, and "Game Over" flashes at him in huge orange letters.

Unable to bottle his frustration, he presses the console to his forehead and groans.

"Rhohak's a freaking hard boss," Tetsurou pipes up from the floor.

Kenma leans over his bed, only able to make out the outline of Tetsurou's jaw from pinpointing his bedhead first. "You play Draelden?"

"A bit. Even my cousin had trouble, and he's eighteen. Mostly I watch him play, and point out stuff he missed. It's faster that way."

Kenma wavers, deciding between his pride as a gamer and the prospect of actually making progress. The thunder makes use of the silence to loudly remind the world of its presence a few more times, distracting Kenma while he thinks.

"This storm's really something, but there were lots where I used to live," Tetsurou says, casually, in between the roars.

Another burst of lightning illuminates Tetsurou's face, and Kenma frowns at the older boy's expression. He's not frightened in the way Kenma would be, with wide eyes and hunched shoulders, but Tetsurou's right eyebrow is twitching slightly; there's a vein pulsing on his forehead, and his mouth is pulled back crookedly in a snarl from gritting his teeth.

Kenma hesitates a moment, and then shifts over to make space on the bed. "I can't avoid the venom attacks," he sighs. "Not even the first spray."

The bed creaks, and then dips as Tetsurou settles in next to him, long legs brushing against his as they slide under the covers. "Oh, that one's tricky. You have to duck and then weave from right to left."

"Not left to right?"

"Nope. Even though the spray's from his right cannon, it curves more to the left."

The thunder bellows again, the most insistently it has thus far. But Tetsurou's shoulder bumps against his, wiry and warm, and Kenma finds he doesn't mind the noise anymore.

 

* * *

 

Kenma's mother nearly sings with delight when Tetsurou's mother calls the following weekend, asking the same question she herself did a week prior.

She almost faints of shock when Kenma agrees.

Though now, standing on the Kuroo's front step with his overnight bag, he's fighting the urge to turn around and head straight back into his house, and the safety of his room.

The off white door bangs open before he can make a run for it. Tetsurou's standing there with his arms spread wide, reminiscent of a circus announcer. "Welcome to my humble abode," he declares, as if he's speaking to an audience and not just Kenma.

Kenma realizes he never found out just what sort of TV Tetsurou watches. He opens his mouth to ask, but thinks better of it.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to [this game name generator](http://www.namegenerator.biz/game-name-generator.php) for inventing the words "Draeldan" (which I took spelling liberties with) and "Rhohak".
> 
> Some quick info (mostly just setting ground rules for myself):
> 
> I'll update this fic whenever the mood strikes, with whatever prompt the striking mood feels like tackling. Everything will be written unbeta-ed, with a maximum time of 24 hours between the time I start a prompt and the time I post. It'll be writing exercises to become more comfortable with the ship, while not giving myself enough time to convince myself I have to write something grand and/or wuss out.
> 
> BLESS THE CREATOR OF KUROKEN MONTH. Not just for setting this whole shebang up, but the prompts are vague enough to play with. Plus they're spread over a few days, so there's no pressure to do something every day.


	2. Our Hands Pressed in the Concrete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo and Kenma spend a day together, with bugs and a volleyball for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered skipping this theme, seeing as I wrote a childhood centric fic for the first one and I was stuck on this prompt all day. But I finished in a rush of inspiration, and decided to post anyway.
> 
> Sorry it's shorter, but the simplicity suits the theme.

**Prompt: Childhood**

**A Day at the Park**

 

 

“Tetsurou-kun called earlier. He asked if you wanted to play volleyball at the park.”

“Oh.” Kenma feigns nonchalance, fiddling away on his console at the table, while his stomach mirrors the sensation of an opening trap door.

If he pretends not to notice, maybe his mother will drop the subject.

She doesn’t. “He promises he’ll be more careful this time.”

Kenma raises a hand to rub at his forehead. It’s still sore, from where the ball had collided on a minimum of four occasions. He threatened to leave when Kuroo laughed, but the ice pack, presented as an apology, alleviated the worst of the bruising.

“How about some fresh air?” His mother asks. “You’re a growing six year old.”

“It’s fine.”

She purses her lips, ties her hair back. “I think you want to play outside with Tetsurou-kun.”

“No, thanks,” says Kenma, like he had a choice in the first place.

 

* * *

 

 

“Let’s start with warm ups!” Kuroo throws the ball up, catches it, throws it up again.

Kenma’s hands long for buttons to press and molded plastic to hold. But his console’s so far away, a whole block from here, probably still lying on the table where his mother made him leave it. He’s never walked that far before, or crossed a street alone.

Alone, because he doubts Kuroo will take him.

He’s so alone.

Kenma plops down on the grass, draws his knees up to his chin, and _pouts_.

“Okay. Maybe not.” Kuroo drops beside him, and meets his eyes. “What’s with you?”

Kenma turns away to look at the swings. They’re empty today, free of older kids who won’t let him have a turn, but he’s not in the mood. “I don’t want to play.”

“Play what? Volleyball?”

“Anything.”

“Not even the slide?”

“I said, _anything_.”

“I see, I see.”

Kuroo sounds like he’s about to laugh; his lips are twitching, and Kenma glares at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” But Kuroo’s voice only becomes breathier in stifled amusement.

“Tell me.” Kenma doesn’t like the feeling he’s out of the loop, excluded from a private joke.

“You’re gonna get mad.”

“I won’t. Tell me.” Temporarily mollified, he looks over at Kuroo, blinking; there must be something pleading in his gaze, because Kuroo relents.

“Well…” He hesitates again, starting only when Kenma raises his head to gaze straight at him.

“…You’re so _funny_ when you’re grumpy.”

All of Kenma’s previously calmed ire returns. “How?” he demands, frowning, lip jutting out further, sinking back into his curl.

“Like that,” Kuroo says, and his swelling bubble of laughter finally bursts. “Your eyebrows scrunch together, until they’re like a long caterpillar. And your bottom lip gets so big!”

“No, it doesn’t!” Kenma immediately tries to smooth out his expression, retract his lip. When Kuroo continues to laugh, he hides back into his arms.

“See, I said you’d get mad.”

“I’m not mad!”

“Yes, you are. But you shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

Kuroo’s smirk widens. “Because it’s cute.”

Kenma forgets he wanted to run to the other side of the park, away from Kuroo. He lifts his head. “Really?”

Kuroo’s still smiling, reaches forward to ruffle his hair. “Yup.”

“Oh,” is all Kenma can muster, and he’s back to looking at his knees, suddenly shy.

“But still funny,” Kuroo adds. And before Kenma can get mad again, Kuroo grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet. “Let’s do something else. It doesn’t have to be volleyball.”

 

* * *

 

Contrary to what Kenma knows of the park, there are a lot more things to do than playing games on a bench, or meeting a ball repeatedly with his face.

It just takes energy, a bit of imagination- and the right person.

 

* * *

 

His parents always insist he use the swing for younger children, but Kenma hates how restricting it is, with its circular shape and open slots only for his legs. Luckily, Kuroo heads straight for the other swings, and leaps onto the seat on his first try.

He cocks his head at Kenma. “Well?”

“What?”

“I can’t do this by myself.”

And it’s true- Kuroo’s lanky as much as a seven year old can be, but his feet are still clear off the ground.

So Kenma approaches the swing to stand behind Kuroo. He positions his hands on the lower half of Kuroo’s back, and propels the older boy forward, slowly upward.

“We’ll switch after,” Kuroo decides, speaking a little louder to make himself heard against the wind.

Still pushing Kuroo, Kenma fidgets, then mumbles, “I can’t even get onto the seat.”

He can hear Kuroo’s smile. “I’ll lift you up. It’s fine.”

It’s not as easy as they initially thought; Kuroo totters around with Kenma on his shoulders for a while. But soon Kenma’s seated, and with Kuroo’s help, he soars.

 

* * *

 

“Whoa. What _is_ that?” Kenma asks, his eyes wide with equal parts apprehension and curiosity.

They’re crouched with their faces an inch from the grass, staring into the microcosm that exists beneath their feet.

Kuroo moves over, nearly cheek to cheek with Kenma to get a good look. “A ladybug. You’ve never seen one before?”

“I have. Just… not that blue green colour.”

Kuroo hums. “Wanna hold it? I can catch it.”

“Nah.” Beautiful as it is, Kenma would rather let it go about its business.

“How about this, then?” And Kuroo scoops an enormous beetle out of the grass.

Kenma instantly shrinks away at its hairy legs, large pincers, and thick black body. “No way!”

“Aw, but it’s nice, see?” Kuroo catches the scuttling bug in his other hand. “No harm done.”

Kenma still won’t touch, but he leans closer. “I bet those big pincers are good for receiving volleyballs. Next time, I’ll pretend my hands are pincers when the ball comes toward me.”

 _Next time_.

Kuroo’s grinning as he gently releases the beetle back into the grass.

 

* * *

 

The sun is at its peak when they arrive. It slowly wanes over the hours, until the trees obscure it.

At that point the crickets are chirping, and the moon comes into view.

In the twilight, the silhouettes of two children race around the field.

They wave knobby sticks, fighting the shadows that grow longer.

 

* * *

 

“Well.” Kuroo’s shoved his hands in his pockets. They’re at the Kozumes’ doorstep, about to part ways. “See you tomorrow? I’ll drop by.”

“You always do,” Kenma says, the words voiced as fact and not as a stab.

Kuroo doesn't answer. He's looking away, and when Kenma follows his gaze, he’s focused on his own house next door. The lights are off, as dark inside as it is outside.

Kenma shoots him a sidelong glance, and closes his smaller hand around the older’s boy’s wrist. He pushes open the door, light flooding the step.

“We’re home,” he calls into the entranceway, and leads Kuroo in.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo’s been over enough times that Kenma’s learned to set up the futon by himself, even if he needs a little help with the heavy lifting.

Yawning, Kuroo burrows under the covers, only to have Kenma crawling in right after him.

“There might be evil shadows still around,” the latter explains, curling up to fit into Kuroo’s side.

“Well, we’ll be ready if they are,” Kuroo says, and reaches an arm out to tuck the blanket around them both.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think it takes the combined efforts of Kuroo and Kenma's mother to boot Kenma out of the house. He's a slacker, but he can be very stubborn as well.
> 
> Also posted on tumblr: http://kenmaakuroo.tumblr.com/post/121027112003/our-hands-pressed-in-the-concrete


	3. Desperate For Some Kind of Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On waiting, separation, and first dates.

**Prompt: Distance**

**All Aboard**

 

 

“Good work today!” Nekomata barks, when the clock hand ticks to the hour. “Leave the ball cart and one net up. You’re all dismissed...” The team bows. “… except Lev.” (There’s a loud groan from one person considerably higher above the sea of heads.) “Captain, vice captain, we’ll leave his training today to you.”

“Got it,” Kuroo says, and the team disperses. Kai hurriedly walks off to help Fukunaga and a struggling Shibayama take down the nets. Yamamoto, Lev, and Inuoka seize the mops to race each other across the gym floor; Yamamoto’s about to win by sheer grit, when they’re cut short by Yaku’s irritated yell of, “Do it properly!” as he collects the towels and water bottles.

Kenma drifts about, picking up stray equipment to put away. As apathetic as he is to chores, setting up and cleaning up as a team is one of the rules Kuroo decreed with him in mind. He trails over to his best friend, who has finished the practice’s debriefing with the coaches.

“I’ll leave first, then.”

“No other plans today?” Kuroo asks.

“Should I have any?”

To the untrained eye Kenma’s as brusque as ever, but his question is terse, edging on sulky.

“I mean, you could stay,” though Kuroo already knows the answer. “But we won’t be leaving until this guy read blocks thirty of Kai’s spikes.” He jabs a thumb behind him at Lev, frozen like a horrified deer in headlights and still clutching the mop.

Kuroo can almost see Kenma’s thought process, whirring behind sharp eyes; the setter considers the gym, bright with cloudless sun, the pathetically warm breeze that barely even stirs a leaf, how badly he’s craving the company of a fan, when the last time was that he left without some obligation or other, and how long he can last in the presence of people who will pester him to join them in the heat.

It takes a grand total of half a second for Kenma to decide.

“See you later,” he says to Kuroo, his feet already beating a hasty retreat in the direction of home, with Lev despairing after him.

“Kenma-saaaan! Don’t leave me!”

 

* * *

 

“All right. One more block!” Kuroo sends the volleyball airborne. “Make this ball count, Lev!”

“Ossu!”

“Slam it past him, Kai!”

Kai: “Ossu.” (Lev, indignantly: “What?!”)

“Concentrate, Lev. Focus on the ball, the spiker’s dominant arm, how they’ll jump, your position. Here it comes!”

Kai connects- not an overwhelming blow, but a solid one, cleverly aimed to ricochet off Lev’s fingertips. But the first year watches, all of his usual silliness gone, wary and quick like the alley cats he tries to befriend. His wide green eyes process, follow, anticipate, and he bats the ball down in a resonant _thwack_.

“Thirty,” Kai announces with a smile, and Lev promptly collapses in a heap right then and there. Sweat glistens on his neck, running as rivulets into a wider patch on his back.

“That was hard!” he wheezes. “But awesome! Did you see, Kuroo-san?”

“Yeah, good progress,” Kuroo responds, arms folded across his chest. Lev manages to peel the top half of his body off of the floor, glowing.

“Seriously?!”

“I’m only saying it once!”

“We’ll finish putting things away.” Kai’s voice is a little muffled from tugging his shirt up to wipe at his face, but his deep tone is as even as always. “Train hard tomorrow too, Lev.”

The first year lights up like he’s been presented with a huge platter of his favourite inari. “Yes!” he manages, in the sloppiest bow imaginable, further magnified by his sharp angled lankiness. He only needs a few leaps to reach the door, and is already halfway out when he bellows over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow!”

“Remind him to pat himself dry next time. I didn’t have a chance to, in all the racket.” Kuroo swats away a gnat, and begins untying one end of the lone net left on the court.  “He’s still a long way from ace material. But it’s almost annoying how fast he’s improving.”

“Once he’s done playing around, he works hard. He’s just rough around the edges, Kuroo.” Kai reaches for the knot on the other side. At the captain’s raised eyebrow, he concedes. “All right. Rough a few metres inward, as well.”

“He needs practice with some proper tosses before next week’s match, too.”

“Bet Kenma will be thrilled to hear that.” And their chuckles echo in the gym.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo collapses onto the seat with a groan.

The old woman at the other end of the carriage shoots him a suspicious look, taking in his wild hair and uncouth position, but he’s used to the stares. He’s taken this train so many times, he can ride it in his sleep.

And he has; Kenma’s the one who steers them on and off the platforms at the morning rush hour, when Kuroo’s so lethargic he’s passed out upright. Their roles reverse in the afternoon, with Kuroo’s firm hand on Kenma’s shoulder stopping him from walking straight into telephone poles, handheld console first.

It’s been that way, for what feels like forever.

He dips a hand into his bag, rummaging about for the crime novel he’s devouring, before remembering he passed out reading it the night before. He had left home too much in a hurry to pluck it out from under the covers.

Without reading to occupy him, he’d otherwise observe the other passengers, watch Kenma playing games, or chat while Kenma tunes in and out. Mostly out.

Kuroo’s head slowly rolls back to thunk gently against the window. His eye wanders to the seat beside him, red and vacant.

At the same time, his phone vibrates.

(It’s the same model as Kenma’s, because Kenma insisted. “If you’re playing games with me, you _need_ this phone,“ he argued, spending ten uninterrupted minutes explaining graphics and specs, forgetting they were in the presence of a staff member already assigned to help Kuroo.

“Damn,” the salesperson had said, when Kenma finished and shrunk back into himself. “I’d hire you on the spot.”)

Grinning, Kuroo unlocks the screen.

 

 

 **Kenma** : _ur not home yet_

 

 

Kuroo pauses, blinking at the testiness of the text. He isn’t _that_ late- he pushed Lev to read block more than he was used to (for all of Kuroo’s tough commentary, the first year is nearly ready for an official match), and the train had been delayed by fifteen minutes.

But it’s not in Kenma’s nature to be overbearing, or to keep tabs. Kuroo can only assume his best friend, like him, is counting down the days.

The lone time they’ve spent together recently are on train rides home, during which the silences even more prolonged than usual after the cheerful chaos that is volleyball practice. And even those journeys are becoming fewer and farther in between, with additional practices for Lev (that Kenma never joins, unless under bribery or coercion), their respective schedules, packed at an all time high from schoolwork, and in Kuroo’s case, university preparations.

Kuroo’s aware the opportunities he can spend with Kenma dwindle, day by day, until with his graduation they finally fade to none at all.

The lack of body heat beside him now, affirms how quickly those chances are vanishing.

 

 

 **Tetsurou** : _on my wa-_

 

  
  
He’s interrupted by another buzz.

 

  
  
**Epic Games** : _Hi, this is an automated message to remind you the game you requested last month is in stock for a limited time. Supplies are only available while they last. We apologize we cannot reserve physical copies in advance for customers._

 

  
  
A short huff escapes Kuroo’s lips, and his finger twitches to delete the message. He can’t even recall the title of the game he requested, but there’s always next time; he’s exhausted and he’s _been_ exhausted, especially lately, but he masks it behind a smirk and a mouth that points people just shy of what he really means.

He can’t fool Kenma, though. Not even when they were children and Kenma trembled against him, when everything was too tall and they couldn’t reach the straphangers on the train’s ceiling. He held Kuroo’s hand instead- so they wouldn’t be separated, but also despite Kuroo being older and taller, he was scared, too.

Kuroo has always believed this was when his vigilance over Kenma’s whereabouts started, his protective surges when he saw Kenma alone (and usually lost), natural for a best friend.

But how normal is it for a best friend’s chest to fill with warmth at the thought of their other half smiling? Wresting happiness from a mouth constantly in a tight line around the unfamiliar, the never ending slew of games he tries to conquer, the line of people he’ll continue to meet?

Very normal, most likely.

And Kenma’s well on his way to changing for the better, thanks to the shrimp from Karasuno and the team, Lev in particular (whether Kenma likes it or not).

But Kuroo wants Kenma’s contentment to come forth until it flows like a wellspring, until it overcomes the counterforce of new experiences and fear, and _anything_ that stands in his way.

Still passably normal.

He’d also like to be standing next to Kenma, while all that happens. Hold Kenma’s hand like they did when they were younger, ingrain into his own mind the lingering trail of fingers across bony shoulders, whether they’re crossing a court with blazing lights or walking to a cramped cafe displaying tempting windows of apple pie. Or prolong the evenings when Kenma’s not feeling quite so reserved, fiddling with his phone while lying on Kuroo’s chest, Kenma’s head close enough to brush with a chin, or perhaps a pair of lips.

... Not so normal.

Kuroo’s phone, again.

 

  
  
**Kenma** : _..r u still practicing_

 

 

Kuroo doesn’t miss the accusatory ellipses- Kenma’s suspicion learned from years of weekend practices, stopping early while Kuroo worked himself to the bone late into the evening. And though he ignored Kuroo’s nagging at him to go inside, choosing instead to watch with the light from his console’s screen, somehow he always got roped into tossing a few more balls.

(They woke the next morning miserable, scratching everywhere, their noses wrinkled from the smell of the ointment they rubbed into each other’s mosquito ravaged limbs.)

The breath Kuroo held as fingers ghosted over his knee, painting lines with a cool substance that soothed away the discomfort. View upon familiar view of cityscape, blurring into new palettes that only burn brighter. Jumping until losing count, to perfect a personal time difference attack. Motions, engraved into mind and skin.

But the train ride is only a routine if every element is present, and he’s aching for a boy who’s content to hide away.

Kenma is, no doubt, savouring his freedom with something utterly mundane, like curling up to play games on his phone, ignoring messages on said phone in favour of attaining a perfect combo. He’ll nod when he wins, sigh when he fails- and scowl when he almost succeeds, the same way he glowered earlier today at the prospect of leaving practice alone, yet again.

And he’s not ignoring _all_ messages. He barely answers anyone’s texts, save for the Karasuno shrimp’s. But when Kenma starts the conversation, he expects a reply.

“Someone’s impatient today,” Kuroo murmurs, though he’s smiling, he commiserates (he _knows_ ) as he deletes the sentence he was typing. Because he’s finally remembered the game important enough to warrant a text from the store.

 

 

 

 **Tetsurou** : _gotta do something first. won’t take long._

 

  
  
He closes the text app, catching sight of his wallpaper. It’s the photo Kenma took of an unconscious Kuroo on one of their 7 a.m. commutes, drool at the corner of his wide open mouth, his chin resting on Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma had snapped himself as well, for once not shying away behind his hair, his mouth pulled taut with the width it’s stretched and his eyes slightly hooded: the rare smile he saves for when he’s thoroughly amused and doesn’t care who knows.

It’s Kuroo’s favourite picture, because the train was packed that day, and Kenma smiled nonetheless.

Blood, flowing to the heart and circulating away, returning again and leaving renewed.

Kuroo is patient, and long suffering, and kind, even if he says so himself and his team will never admit it. He bides his time, waits for the right time to strike, pushes back the opposition when the opportunity’s ripe and the other side considers themselves victorious- to maximize his satisfaction and their frustration.

It’s what makes him a great blocker. (And great at being an asshole, Yaku’s fond of saying on occasion. Fondly.)

But damn Kuroo’s restraint.

There’s an internal, savage itch worse than mosquito bites: the deranged desire to leap out of his skin, fit through the cracks in the carriage, vault off the rails and away.

All he wants to do is go right _now_ , fight metal and physics and gravity and time, to see Kenma. To catch him around his thin waist, press him close and cheek to cheek, run fingers through inexpertly dyed hair and over chapped lips, kiss him senseless. Ask him the questions Kuroo never asked on all their journeys home together, even when Kenma gets annoyed by the noise and prods Kuroo to shut him up.  

The train slows to a scheduled stop. A bat departs from the eaves of the station building, its shadow flitting across the lamplight.

The movement returns Kuroo to himself, a little. There is a benefit to riding the train alone: he waits like everyone else, eager to break away from the ceaseless rumble that threatens to drown out all thoughts. But on his way through, he can’t escape his own.

He’ll have to switch trains at the station after next, and subject himself to more of the steady, agonizingly slow roar in his ears.

It’s fine. It’s worth it.

He has one more journey to make, before he closes the distance.

Kuroo exhales, his breath uneven, arms reaching behind his head. He stretches his trembling legs out to cross them at the knees, and raises his eyes to the metallic space in the carriage ceiling, in the gap between the fluorescent bulbs.

“Shit.” He earns another glare from the old woman, this one deserved. “So _that’s_ what it was.”

 

* * *

 

_(Where are you? I’m here already.)_

 

_(I’m coming. Wait for me.)_

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes, a first date is as simple as turning up.

Kuroo comes home (well, Kenma’s house, but it’s synonymous) to a certain someone settled expectantly on the dark leather couch, his fingers sliding absently on his phone. Two glasses of water sit on the table, one surrounded by a wad of tissues to soak up the condensation.

Kenma hates showering in the locker room’s lime scale scabbed stalls, but he clearly hasn’t done so at home either; still in his uniform, the smell is seeping into the seat. He’s sporting a severe cowlick, like he started the afternoon sitting up, became too lazy to support himself, and slid lower and lower as time wore on. The mess exposes just how poor his last amateur dye job was, a “Don’t Try This At Home Or Ever” demonstration. He could be dropped off in the zoo’s raccoon enclosure and fit right in, with the dark circles pooled under his eyes from lack of sleep. His posture is, and is always, atrocious.

Kuroo’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.

“You’re back.”

He’s waited an eternity to hear that unaffected voice, slightly hoarse from hours of silence. “Aw, missed me?”

Kenma’s thumbs continue to move in time with the flashing beats on his screen, until the “ _Level Complete!_ ” message appears. “You took so long, the ice melted.”

“Sorry. Got a bit sidetracked.” Kuroo knows that’s not the end of it; Kenma sets his phone down, though he doesn’t turn around. It’s late, later than the team has ever stayed for practice, and he anticipated Kuroo to be back sooner. He lets Kuroo keep his secrets, but this one needs explaining.

“So, I was thinking…” Kuroo trails off for extra suspense, but Kenma stares at the armrest warily.

“You were thinking,” he repeats in a monotone. Kuroo believes it a barb at his intelligence, before he realizes that combined with bursting in with even more energy than usual, panting like he’d sprinted a marathon (he’d hit the ground running when the train pulled in), and wearing a grin only seen on the possessed, all signs point to “ _I was thinking of going on a joyride with Bokuto in our home made go-karts at midnight in our underwear_ ” levels of smart.

“I was thinking,” Kuroo tries again, dropping his attempt at dramatics (it was worth a try, but then it’s Kenma he’s speaking to), “that we can beat this.” And when Kenma’s curiosity finally gets the better of him to look, Kuroo presents the game cartridge, face up in his palm.

He had only called the store to confirm the game’s availability, Kuroo tells himself, and hadn’t forced Bokuto to stay up with him all those months ago, in an attempt to place an online preorder; the game was convenient to pick up, despite the store being located at the opposite end of the train route; he has a best friend going on ten years who’s waited to play for months, because the one time Kenma studied seriously for a test, he missed his chance at a preorder as well.

But at his core, Kuroo knows it’s _just because._ That for all their differences, he harbours the burning desire for Kenma’s smile. For Kenma, really.

And Kuroo’s not disappointed.

He’s answered with the sudden, almost violently quick curl of a small mouth. Gold eyes shining with competitive zeal, flicking from the game in Kuroo’s hands, to his face, and back again. Slender hands that clench in excitement, and will tangle themselves in Kuroo’s shirt when he leans over after they complete the first level. And the response, quiet but clear:

“Let’s play.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also cross posted on [tumblr](http://kenmaakuroo.tumblr.com/post/121266819523/desperate-for-some-kind-of-contact).
> 
> Broke my self-imposed rules. They were fun while they lasted, and are now more like guidelines. What was supposed to take 24 hours, took a week. Thanks to [b_minor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/b_minor) for her beta-ing prowess. 
> 
> Title is lyrics from Imogen Heap’s “First Train Home”. (Chapter 1’s is edited from Yuki Kajiura’s “in my long forgotten cloistered sleep”, Chapter 2’s from The Lighthouse and the Whaler’s “Pioneers”.)
> 
> I struggled with this fic a loooooot. But hey, there’s no improvement without practice!
> 
> Was that a kiss at the end, you say? Yes. Yes, it was. C:


	4. Call It Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a. Call It Unapologetic Fluff. Five musings on Kuroo’s and Kenma’s cat-like behaviours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy cats.

_Prompt: Cats  
_

 

 

 

**1.**

There are no shortage of ways to belittle Kenma on the court: wobbly, a pipsqueak, small, uncharismatic.

When the lights shine on him and more _ideal_ looking players, it’s impossible to ignore the voices throwing his insecurities into sharp relief.

Kuroo speaks, with his fur bristling and a hiss behind the words. “That unsteady shorty is our backbone, brain, and heart,” he drawls, grinning all the while, haunches at the ready.

It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. But he’ll defend Kenma’s importance to the team, and to Kenma himself, in the face of any doubt.

 

* * *

 

**2.**

Kenma’s eyes are his window to the world. They’re how he tracks every change in body language and clue, predicting what someone will do next. Calculating, like observing cars and pigeons pass by from a living room sill.

There’s only one person he doesn’t constantly watch. He doesn’t need to.

Kuroo’s are no less sharp, but he sees differently. People are pools of uninvestigated potential, just waiting to be explored. Such are the depths of his curiosity to try, to inquire.

Because when he’s had enough of the new sights, he can always turn on his heel and head home.

 

* * *

 

**3.**

Kuroo has his feet propped up on the coffee table, watching a dating show on TV, when the key turns in the lock, and Kenma stumbles in.

“Yo,” Kuroo greets him. “How was the group project meeting?”

Kenma stares straight at him. No, _through_ him, like he’s learned exactly what true suffering is.

“Kenma?”

Kenma stands unmoving for a moment. But then, he’s flopped straight on the couch, face first into Kuroo’s chest.

Kuroo can’t help laughing softly into Kenma’s hair and kisses his temple, even as he encircles Kenma around the backpack the latter’s still wearing.

“That bad, huh?”

 

* * *

 

**4.**

His computer’s out for repairs. His consoles are plugged into the outlets. For once, Kenma’s got nothing to do- until something heavy sinks into his lap.

“Pet me,” Kuroo smirks petulantly, pouting up at him the way Kenma did as a child. (And definitely still doesn’t now, not even when Kenma can’t get the game he wants, or people won’t leave him alone. Nope.)

Kenma sighs. He extends his left hand to comb through thick, unruly hair, and the right to cradle Kuroo’s cheek. “Consider yourself lucky,” he grumbles, even as Kuroo closes his eyes and leans into the caress.

 

* * *

 

**5.**

Kenma taps away at his game, paying no mind to the rain tapping at his window. Convenient, because he won’t have to water the plants. But he and Kuroo are sharing his blanket, for shelter from the cold.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Kuroo says sleepily behind him, next to the wall.

“Suit yourself.”

An arm enters Kenma’s peripheral vision, as Kuroo props it against the bedframe. He drapes the other loosely around Kenma’s waist.

“Love you,” he murmurs into Kenma’s ear, right before he drifts off.

Kenma settles in, and silently raises Kuroo’s hand to his lips. _Me, too._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on tumblr as well: http://kenmaakuroo.tumblr.com/post/121444395763/call-it-instinct
> 
> For #3, floppy Kenma was inspired by this cat: https://twitter.com/rintn0110/status/608812184815009792
> 
> Had a busy weekend, so didn't have as much time for this one! It was fun trying to make each musing exactly 100 words, though.


	5. Grass Growing Through Paving Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smoke leaks. It slips through Kenma’s orifices, unfurls. It is inward, and everywhere.

_Prompt: Secrets_

 

 

It is an entity. A coexistent organism, a morning mist that won’t recede with the hours.

 _Look. This is reality,_ it says, persistently. _What you feel, what you assume, it’s all true. We’ll figure it out together._

Something else, something more _balanced_ , waits on the other side. The weather is not necessarily sunnier there, but changes with the seasons. Kenma knows this. And yet, the entity becomes the foundation on which he builds his knowledge.

That balance carries on, elsewhere. In its relentlessness, it stops for no one.

 

* * *

 

Kenma’s never known an adult who, upon reminiscing on their younger days, didn’t look up and away, with stars in their eyes. “What a time,” they say. “I remember when-”

Childhood, to Kenma, is whiling away hours locked in classrooms and chained at desks, in close proximity with classmates he doesn’t speak to. And yet, he keeps up with trends and shows he overhears them talk about, so he is not entirely left behind.

_They don’t care to know me. And I don’t care to know them. It’s fine this way._

He knows these things, because the fog tells him so.

 

* * *

 

Not that Kenma’s childhood lacked in all things idyllic.

He does not find fondness in busyness, mingling with peers, or the taste of sea brine in the air. He relishes the gaps in between the noise, when he has the house to himself and fills the suspended silences with virtual worlds.

Then there is his playmate, just the one. Kenma doesn’t think he can handle more than one, anyway.

As willing as Kuroo is to melt into Kenma’s pace, he is just as prone to break it. His relentlessness in tugging Kenma outside, where the sun leaves its mark with red skin and freckles, can win medals.

That _balance_ , Kenma finds in him.

 

* * *

 

Kenma timidly follows Kuroo into the gym, on his first day of volleyball club practice. He can sense his presence being raked over by the unimpressed third years.

“This the friend you said was joining, Kuroo?” one asks, folding his arms. His firm posture hints at a habit formed from leading a team, but his black eyes don’t even spare a glance for Kenma.

“Yup,” Kuroo answers, rather stiffly, and doesn’t elaborate further. Kenma has the feeling Kuroo’s never waxed poetic about his ingenuity and tosses, the way Kuroo did to their junior high teammates, who reciprocated the enthusiasm in kind; Kenma walked away, his face burning, a pleasant knot in his stomach.

The knot in his stomach now, is far from pleasant.

“Well,” says another third year. Kenma shies away at his leer and he nods, satisfied. “Let’s get the formalities out of the way.”

Anything comes second to intimidation, apparently.

Kenma shifts his feet, slightly closer to Kuroo, away from the gym doors. These people are his new comrades.

Smoke leaks. It slips through Kenma’s orifices, unfurls. It is internal, and everywhere.

 

* * *

 

The third years’ tepid approval of Kenma starts, and ends, during that very first practice.

Kenma stays quiet, forgettable, as long as he can. But he can’t ignore the glaring defensive hole in the team’s current lineup in good conscience, and opens his mouth.

What small amount of good graces he scrounged, evaporate instantly. They don’t return.

“The hell do you want? Get back to cleaning up.”

“You sure you wanna finish that sentence? Think carefully. The team has no place for anyone who thinks he’s better than the rest.”

Every affirmation of his impertinence, is another water droplet.

“Yesterday, they forced me to run a lot longer than the other first years again,” Kenma says, chin tucked into his knees. He stares at the stream, but he can’t see anything, really.

_I can’t hold up. I’m done.  
_

It was his secret. But in that moment, it's his truth.

“Don’t quit, all right?” Kuroo’s gaze cuts through haze and shadow, zeroes straight in on Kenma.

"The team is definitely stronger because of you."

_Don’t lose your way, from what’s important._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross posted to tumblr: http://kenmaakuroo.tumblr.com/post/121645320913/grass-growing-through-paving-stones
> 
> Chapter title is from Blue Skies' "Wildflowers". Hoo, boy... this turned out more abstract than I expected. But I think it's better not to explain too much. 
> 
> Also had to finish this one quickly. With upcoming life and writing stuff, I have less time for prompts. Still doing my best to write them, though!!! *raises fist*


	6. an infinite number of lines await

**Prompt: Seasons**

**Again, fourfold**

 

 

**Summer**

They meet under the gym awning.

“Come on.” Kuroo can barely hear himself over the water that splatters itself against the metal in straight, steady bombs. “We shouldn’t stay in the rain for too long.”

When Kenma doesn’t respond, Kuroo looks over just in time to steer him away from a puddle of lake-sized proportions. “Kenma!” he scolds. “Pay attention to where you’re going.”

“Okay,” Kenma mutters, his eyes not budging from his console.

Kuroo shifts closer, so as to properly shelter them both under the clear umbrella he’s holding. “Honestly, what would you do without me?”

“Drown and die in this heat,” Kenma dryly says, without missing a beat.

“I can’t look out for you forever, you know.”

Their arms bump. Kenma angles himself away from Kuroo, away to face the street. His answer is lost to the car that drives by, drenching them in a torrent of water.

 

 

**Autumn**

They meet under the gym awning.

“Come on.” Kuroo can barely hear himself over their shoes slapping against the sidewalk. “We don’t want the pot your mom left on the stove to burn.”

When Kenma doesn’t respond, Kuroo looks over just in time to steer him away. The “Missing Cat” poster taped to the utility pole would have collided with the setter’s face. “Kenma!” he scolds. “Pay attention to where you’re going.”

“Okay,” Kenma mutters, his eyes not budging from his console.

Kuroo shifts closer, so as to place his palm on Kenma’s back and hurry him along. “Honestly, what would you do without me?”

“Be attacked and swallowed whole by a leaf pile,” Kenma dryly pants, without missing a beat.

“I can’t look out for you forever, you know.”

Their arms bump. Kenma stares at the ground, his game paused. His answer is lost to the great crackle of rust coloured leaves pulling free from their branches.

 

 

**Winter**

They meet under the gym awning.

“Come on.” Kuroo can barely hear himself over the red, cat expression adorned mask that covers his mouth. “Let’s get home faster today. We don’t want you getting sick, too.”

When Kenma doesn’t respond, Kuroo looks over just in time to steer him away from stepping off the sidewalk and into the street gutter. “Kenma!” he scolds. “Pay attention to where you’re going.”

“Okay,” Kenma mutters, his eyes not budging from his console.

Kuroo shifts closer, so as to tug Kenma’s thick white scarf above his mouth. “Honestly, what would you do without me?”

“Catch your cold and wither away,” Kenma dryly says, without missing a beat.

“I can’t look out for you forever, you know.”

Their arms bump. Kenma sinks into his scarf until only his eyes are visible. His answer is lost to the warm wool that obscures most of his face.

 

 

**Spring**

They meet under the gym awning.

“Come on.” Kuroo can barely hear himself over thefirst winds of spring that threaten to uproot every tree with the force of their gust. “We don’t want you sneezing up a storm.”

When Kenma doesn’t respond, Kuroo looks over just in time to steer him away from a sizable branch, snapped off from the overlying tree. “Kenma!” he scolds. “Pay attention to where you’re going.”

“Okay,” Kenma mutters, his eyes not budging from his console.

Kuroo shifts closer, so as to better protect them from the relentless wind. “Honestly, what would you do without me?”

“Blow away, never to be seen again,” Kenma dryly says, without missing a beat.

“I can’t look out for you forever, you know.”

Their arms bump. Kenma looks away from his game to stare at Kuroo.

“So? You can now, can’t you?”

It’s the first time Kenma’s ever acknowledged he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, if he really wanted; he simply chooses not to, with Kuroo around.

“I’ve indulged you too much,” Kuroo sighs.

His reply is a barely audible snort. “Says the guy trying to cover us both with his jacket.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates! I spent the past few days frantically finishing up my HQ Hols prompt, and I’m feeling rather blocked from spending so much time on it. But I’m determined to finish these prompts! 
> 
> Chapter idea and title from [the MV of Transfer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayL4pzictu8). I aimed to make the main event and dialogue as “everyday” as possible, as I think they’d have this conversation often.


	7. Recall Just to Forget Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aches that remain tender.

**Prompt: Touch**

**hello, in all circumstances**

 

For once, Kuroo is completely quiet.

Granted, his silence is from a raging headache that threatens to split his skull apart, and he’s pretty sure his stomach’s going to flip inside out from the degree it’s churning. But he has no quips, no sardonic remarks, not even a comment on how easily Kenma’s grey shorts hike up and make it easier to appreciate contact with his thighs.

Then again, Kuroo’s silence is the only reason he’s allowed to curl this close today; Kenma caved with a sigh to the sad, pathetic eyed looks he was given as he tapped away at his game. He knows the path to Kuroo’s aforementioned pathetic state was the result of countless beers with Bokuto and Daichi, at the end of a long work week.

(He doesn’t need to know said path included loud, enthusiastic anthems dedicated to various parts of his body, which grew increasingly inappropriate even for the late night bar patrons.)

Kuroo wedges closer, toward the slope where Kenma’s thighs meet. He molds himself with the warmth, pressing his cheek to the softest, most comfortable part of Kenma’s right leg. His boyfriend’s sweatshirt brushes against his temple, as Kenma leans over to catch his bleary eye. “Kuro, do you mind?” he asks irritably, glancing away from his game for just a moment.

But a moment is enough.

Kuroo turns his face to press his mouth and nose into bare skin once, twice. The third time, he traces his left hand lightly along muscle, enjoying the sensation of the faint, coarse hair and goosebumps that rise in the wake of his palm. Kenma exhales a hint more raggedly than usual, shifts, allows himself to be caught and stroked- and then pulls completely free of Kuroo’s grasp.

Kuroo lands on the dark green cushion that pillowed Kenma’s legs. The impact sends the room spinning, the light streaming through their bedroom curtains near blinding, and he throws his arm over his eyes. He was too lightheaded to do much else than touch, anyway; his pounding head and nausea indicate his body’s concern for more pressing matters.

“I _said_ , only if you were still.” Kenma’s hand lingers near his forehead, fingers positioned in an _okay_ sign and about to flick in reproach. But Kenma catches himself, and instead taps lightly with the still unopened bottle of _Pocari Sweat_.

“Drink this.” He taps again, when there’s no response. “If you could do _that_ , you have no excuse.”

He’s answered with a long groan of dissent. Kuroo faces away from the window, still covering his eyes. Screw water, screw food, screw work, screw _breathing_ \- he’ll remain a dark wisp of a person until his hangover fades, clinging to the faintest remnants of life until then. And Kenma, ideally.

The floorboards creak. Fabric rustles. And Kenma exhales again, his breath just over Kuroo’s mouth, blonde hair draping to skim his cheeks. Much closer than Kuroo thought, and hungover as he is, his heart still has the sense to stutter.

“My legs were going numb.” Kenma kisses his top lip, just light enough to brush, just long enough to catch. Just as Kuroo beings to reach back, he pulls away. “Drink up, and you can stay.”

When Kuroo manages to push himself to a sitting position, squinting through the pain, Kenma’s already settled back on the cushion, his game resumed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossposted to tumblr [here](http://kenmaakuroo.tumblr.com/post/122682141008/recall-just-to-forget-again). 
> 
> This was partly inspired by headcanons I made with a friend. Chapter title from Jeff Pianki’s “On Forgetting”.
> 
> /casually turns up fic rating


	8. Straight to Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tetsurou's hooded eyes widen as he takes in the sight below, takes in _Kenma_ staring back at him. Then he’s gone, leaving the coffee coloured curtains swinging.
> 
> Kenma reckons he’s got two minutes flat, a minute even, if Tetsurou foregoes proper attire. He’d prepare himself for questioning, but he has no clear cut answers. It’s the spoiled part of Kenma in this long standing relationship- his guard lowering until he presents himself, just as he is.

**Prompt: Light**

**lucid 'til blinding  
**

 

 

 

 

 **Kenma** : _look outside_

 

 

He’s dressed to the nines in winter wear- thick coat, gloves, boots. And yet he shivers down to his flannel pajamas, unused to the snow that so rarely visits the city. Fresh flakes, lazy and aimless, noiselessly join their brethren; the newest one falls atop the right ear on his white hat.

He lifts his phone slightly higher, illuminating his face in the frozen gloom.

He can only hope the light is enough.

It only takes a few minutes for Tetsurou to appear at the second storey window; somehow, he can be comatose and still wake at one of Kenma’s texts. Outlined by the glow of his study lamp, he blearily peers down, brows slightly furrowed in bemusement.

His hooded eyes widen as he takes in the sight below, takes in _Kenma_ staring back at him. Then he’s gone, leaving the coffee coloured curtains swinging.

Kenma reckons he’s got two minutes flat, a minute even, if Tetsurou foregoes proper attire. He’d prepare himself for questioning, but he has no clear cut answers. It’s the spoiled part of Kenma in this long standing relationship- his guard lowering until he presents himself, just as he is.

 

* * *

 

_“There’s a higher chance of getting the sword if you farm here.” Kenma swirled his mouse in a circular motion._

_“Ohhh. Got it.” Tetsurou’s reply was thick, slurred. His head, propped in his hands and eyes unseeing, steadily sank out of the webcam’s line of sight._

_Kenma exited the screen share mode. “Let’s stop,” he said._

_“It’s fine.” Tetsurou shoved himself back into view, wearing his usual easy grin with the wattage cranked to the max. “I just dropped something.”_

_“Let’s stop.”_

_“I’m good. Absolutely peachy.” Tetsurou’s voice, significantly muted so as not to disturb his roommate, rang with the finality of a captain’s authority he hadn’t yet lost. “You were saying?”_

_Tetsurou could be unyieldingly stubborn under that flexible exterior. Kenma didn’t want to waste his breath, but reluctantly clicked the screen share button again. “To unlock the secret item, defeat the boar. If you want the rare armor, complete this side quest. You need all the lore to earn the “Storyteller” achievement, it’ll grant you bonus magic. And… Kuro?” Tetsurou’s mess of a hairstyle had slid off the screen entirely. “Kuro?”_

_“Ungh.” Tetsurou’s bedhead reappeared, its owner rubbing his eyes. “Yep, I’m up. Sorry. What were you saying? Didn’t catch all of it.”_

_“Any of it, you mean.” He watched a grainy Tetsurou stifling a yawn. “How much sleep did you get?”_

_“Not sure. Like…. four?”  
_

_Kenma narrowed his eyes. “Four what? Hours?”_

_“Four. Uh.” Tetsurou scratched his ear._

_“Kuro.”_

_“... Four minutes.”_

_Kenma closed the screen share window again. He leaned back in his chair, away from his computer. “We didn’t have to Skype if you were tired. That means I basically talked to myself for fifteen minutes straight.”_

_Tetsurou’s response was rather clipped. “Volleyball practice ran late again- we have a match next week. And I’ve got presentations for Communications and Business I need to ace.”_

_“So work on those and rest. Don’t lose sleep because of me.” Kenma couldn’t prevent the edge that seeped in. He reached for the pile of completed homework on his desk to slot into his bag._

_“That’s not it. Don’t-” Above him, Tetsurou sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, contrite. “I just wanted to see you, even though I’m exhausted.” Kenma straightened up in time to see Tetsurou struggling to lift his head long enough to face the webcam. “_ Especially _when I’m exhausted.”_

_Tetsurou’s voice drifted in and out of focus, along with his unsteady connection and consciousness. With one hand buried in his hair, palm digging into his cheek, he grinned again- minus the blinding charm, but it was the more honest grin that Kenma preferred._

_“Kenma,” Tetsurou murmured, drowsy and dark, the way he whispered into Kenma’s shoulders on languid mornings. “Are you annoyed?”_

Yeah. _Yes, when Tetsurou ran himself into the ground like this, and had only been attending university for three months. The video pixels failed to blur out the shadows under his eyes, the tight slant to his mouth. Kenma processed Tetsurou’s tiredness, remembered it, and noted the flakes that had just began to drift outside._

_“I’ll be back in a bit.” Kenma got to his feet. “Sleep while you wait.”_

 

* * *

Tetsurou comes outside exactly a minute later.

He’s still pulling a jacket on over his sweatpants and T-shirt, stepping barefoot into his sneakers to meet Kenma. “Wow,” he says, looking like he still doesn’t believe what he’s witnessing. “Our anniversary’s not for another six months. What’s the occasion?”

“You wanted to see me,” Kenma says. He expects a reaction, and he’s not disappointed; Tetsurou gapes at him, spluttering.

“Th-that was it!? Well, yeah, I did, but on Skype! Geez, I didn’t mean you had to actually _come over_. I thought I didn’t have to elaborate.”

He has a point. Kenma’s typically too lazy to trudge the single digit number of steps to his mailbox, unless there’s a game parcel with his name on it. And yet, disgruntlement nips at the edges of his fatigued consciousness. It vaguely feels like he’s being scolded, and admonishment for trying to cheer Tetsurou up is the last thing Kenma wants to hear right now.

“Well, I’m here,” he snaps. “Unless you prefer I go back?”

“No!“ Tetsurou rakes a hand through his hair again, staring out at the ice slicked road. “Sorry. I really am. I’m just tired. And I didn’t expect you to come all the way out here.” He returns his gaze to his boyfriend, and Kenma’s hit with an unpleasant jolt; Tetsurou’s eyebags and his mouth’s tight slant are accentuated in the shadows. “I- How was the trip?”

“Cold. And delayed.” The snow’s infrequent visits meant the city was at a loss when anything out of the ordinary occurred. But armed with route advice from Kai, their former teammate and resident trainspotter, Kenma had almost arrived when the trains started to slow down.

Tetsurou opens his mouth again, presumably to ask more questions, like how Kenma managed to navigate solo without getting lost once. But all he says is, “Cold and delayed, huh,” with a hint of a smile at his lips.

“Very cold,” Kenma grumbles, hugging himself for warmth. “Still is.”

Tetsurou’s low chuckle blends into the blackness. Perhaps it’s partly from the cold, but he seems to have regained some vitality; the spark of the overlying street lamp reflects in his eyes as he looks at Kenma. “Come here,” he says tenderly, and opens his arms.

Kenma’s met with long fingers that stroke through his hair, just above the nape of his neck. Tetsurou’s other hand settles on his back, gently tilting Kenma forward to lean his chin lightly on the top of Kenma’s head.

Kenma closes his eyes, because all he can see is black anyway. He inhales, takes in the clean scent of Tetsurou’s soap and the detergent he uses on his clothes. Coupled with the crisp edge from the surround snow, Kenma can feel himself instinctively unwinding from the inside out. He has to work to keep his eyelids open, and Tetsurou’s supposed to be the sleepy one.

“Stay over tonight.”

Tetsurou’s breath sends fog rising upward. Kenma’s heart pounds as the breeze skims his ear, but he manages to reply coherently.

“Don’t have a choice. It’s late.”

“You could’ve at least said something a little more romantic.” Tetsurou raises his voice, and slows its cadence into a drawn out mumble. “‘‘Yes, my darling Kuro-kun! I’d love to!’”

“Was that supposed to be my voice?” Kenma snorts. But he doesn’t dignify Tetsurou’s impersonation with a further response, other than burying himself into his torso. With only thin cotton separating cheek and chest, Kenma’s already enveloped in _warmth_ , even as Tetsurou’s arms tighten around him. He reaches around to encircle Tetsurou’s waist as best he can, and holds on.

He’s not planning on moving anytime soon, and from how firmly he’s anchored them together, Tetsurou doesn’t plan on making him. Kenma marvels at how perfectly he fits, tucked into Tetsurou’s embrace.

And the dim street is quiet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross posted to tumblr [here](http://kenmaakuroo.tumblr.com/post/122843980568/prompt-light-lucid-til-blinding-also-on-ao3). And this concludes the official penultimate prompt of Kuroken Month! *sobs*
> 
> Another difficult prompt. I did not expect this chapter to turn out with so much fluff. Litter of kittens level fluff. Three birds nests level fluff. Dandelion field level fluff. [TRAINSPOTTER KAI IS A REAL THING.](http://headbandxbowties.tumblr.com/post/122199744435)
> 
> Chapter title is lyrics from Vienna Teng’s “Recessional”. Probably a bit late to mention, but the song’s lyrics don’t always match the tone of the chapter and may be taken out of context. They’re usually just what I think makes a fitting title. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated. And if you feel so inclined, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/beneathelm)! I ramble about different stuff, but I'm always down for a chat. C:


	9. Safe Passage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenma sneezes, spraying moisture into the already saturated air. His resentment can swell along with the cold front’s arrival, but only if he makes the effort to harvest the irritation. He doesn’t.
> 
> His forest green tie, limp and heavy, chokes him. Loosening it, he pulls it over his head and ducks to stuff the wad of fabric in his bag.
> 
> The rain continues to pour, but it no longer falls on his head in hard eighth rhythms.
> 
> "Noticed you caught out here. But, uh… seems I arrived a little late."

**Prompt: AU**

**Sip, sip, parch**

 

 

 

“We had some beautiful clear skies yesterday; just look at this stunning shot of the skyline! But as you can see from the cold front surfacing _here_ , we’re in for a storm today- and it’s going to be a big one!”

The woman on the TV smiled her photogenic smile. The high definition lens didn't miss her immaculately curled hair, her perfectly applied pink lipstick. She neatly clasped her hands in front of her black pencil skirt as she nodded at the camera.

“Expect heavy rain that will begin in the afternoon, and continue until early Wednesday morning. Don’t forget your umbrellas and raingear, and please take care going home. This has been your morning weather forecast for Channel Four News at seven o’clock.”

Naturally, Kenma heard none of it.

He supposes he landed himself in this predicament, too content to funnel his concentration into the miniature screen in his hands and forgetting his mother’s nagging until he was out the door. He’ll get an earful from her when he returns, his socks unpleasantly squelching against the floorboards as he peels off his clothes in a sodden trail to the bathtub.

He shivers.

He can’t possibly get any more soaked. The cold is miserable, but the stop is also deserted and that’s comfort; he's used to silence anyway, revels in it. The quiet is preferable to long lines of chattering students trampling the grass, or when constant complaints about the heat make the humidity all the more suffocating.

The bus won’t arrive for another twenty minutes.

In the five seconds his phone is exposed, a drop detonates on the “15:55”.

He throws a sour glance above him to the unrelenting sky. Given this stop’s popularity as a rendezvous point for students from three high schools, it should have an awning. And it did, until the awning was destroyed by the more rambunctious of the subjects it was meant to shelter.

He can’t sit on the unprotected bench, or play games with rain ricocheting off every surface. He stares sullenly down the road through stringy bangs. The air is so veiled that cars only materialize at the last moment; they raise water with their wheels, rippling liquid into the gutters.

Kenma sneezes, spraying moisture into the already saturated air. His resentment can swell along with the cold front’s arrival, if he makes the effort to harvest the irritation. He doesn’t.

His forest green tie, limp and heavy, chokes him. Loosening it, he pulls it over his head and ducks to stuff the wad of fabric in his bag.

The rain continues to pour, but it no longer falls on his head in hard eighth rhythms.

"Noticed you caught out here. But, uh… seems I arrived a little late."

Kenma looks up at the plastic umbrella that now covers him- and the tall boy holding it.

The boy’s messy hair is his most distinguishing feature, so dishevelled the rain can’t be the main culprit. And yet the hairstyle works, the fringe draping almost casually over the right side of his face. He watches Kenma through his visible eye, hooded and golden, the skin across his sharp cheekbones tautening at his slight smile.

Kenma notes the toned muscle of the arm that keeps the umbrella above them and, cheeks colouring, wonders if the boy models on the side.

“The news said for days it’d rain," the boy goes on. "You didn’t hear?"

Though his mouth curls to one side in what would appear to be a smirk, his words lack the hard edge of an admonishment. So Kenma shakes his head.

"Well," and the boy deftly rolls one white uniform sleeve up, "good thing practice ended early, then." He shifts the umbrella handle to his left hand to tug the other sleeve up as well.

“Yo, Kuroo!”

“Oi! Rooster head!”

Students, wearing similarly slackened red and gold striped ties as the boy, raise their voices above the rain’s roar.

"Kuroo-kun, don’t forget to bring my book tomorrow!" A girl calls, waving the arm she has linked with her friend under the safety of their shared pink umbrella. Her long ponytail swings as she ducks to peer curiously at Kenma, and he shrinks lower than her line of sight.

"It’ll be in your desk before class starts,” the tall boy promises her, unperturbed by the questioning glances at his companion. Satisfied, the girl returns Kuroo’s easy smile, and the group continue on their way.

“Let’s stand on the sidewalk instead,” Kuroo suggests when his classmates are gone. “More room, and our shoes will be less muddy.” He grins again, this one solely for Kenma. “Not like you’ll miss the bus. You’ll hear it before you see it, even in this weather.”

Kenma tails him around the wet bench to the dark grey concrete, sidestepping worms along the way. They settle close enough that they’re ensconced within the umbrella’s refuge, both keeping a careful distance from the other.

They talk.

Or rather, Kuroo does. He attends Nekoma High, but lives closer to the outskirts of his school district. By practice ending early, he meant volleyball. "You play?" he asks, but Kenma only has when forced to in gym class and that topic dies quickly; Kuroo deftly switches the conversation to games when Kenma pulls out his Nintendo DS in a futile attempt to dry it with his sweater.

Kuroo knows a lot of people. He doesn’t mention the same name twice: a classmate, who loves the same RPG Kenma’s currently playing, and a team mate, dying to try the new sequel Kenma pre-ordered. His friend, his best one clearly, given the honour of being mentioned three times for hijinks during late night gaming marathons.

Kenma listens, content to let the unfamiliar wash over him similarly to how the heavens empty themselves. Again, though the stories roll off Kuroo’s tongue with a distinctive curl, he speaks with a discrete affection Kenma’s almost come to expect, in the short time he’s known Kuroo. Kenma wouldn't know about friends. Ones connected to him through physical proximity and not an Internet connection, anyway.

The bus announces its arrival with a hacking wheeze as it skids to a halt. The doors creak open.

Kuroo cuts himself off.

"Maybe I'll see you around," he says, inclining his head to avoid a nearby tree’s runoff and hoisting his bag higher on his shoulder. He holds the umbrella over Kenma's head, even as Kenma steps over the threshold between concrete and padded metal step.

"Thanks," Kenma manages in a small voice, and the boy named Kuroo raises a hand in a lazy salute. Once he’s paid his fare and in a slightly damp seat, Kenma watches the clear plastic umbrella bob down the road and vanish into the haze that turns the familiar streets foreign.

With Kuroo’s departure, Kenma feels the frustrated loosening of his tongue only when an interaction is over, all the clever lines he could have riffed to Kuroo’s questions spilling themselves in a torrent. (Oh, _god_ , Kuroo’s head tilt was a signal for Kenma to introduce himself, wasn’t it?) And the friend Kenma met over Dragon Quest Online had slipped his mind completely. “ _DaSmolGiant_ ”, the volleyball fanatic with hair as bright as his personality; possessing zero knowhow and all fierce, determined talent, his exaggerated caps and nonsense words pissed off most seasoned players.

And Kenma’s childhood house- grey, square - in the same school district as Kuroo's. He wishes he mentioned it now, or spoke a little more than in nods or shakes of his head, or even asked what year Kuroo was in. If Kuroo knew what happened to the awning. If Kuroo and his rowdy best friend destroyed the awning themselves.

The traffic light turns green. The bus leaps forward, jerking Kenma back.

Saying anything more is a pipe dream. It stays buried in the sealed moving boxes still stored in Kenma’s hallway closet, intact and forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUs: [“it’s raining and you forgot your umbrella, so stand under mine while we wait for the bus”](http://dailyau.tumblr.com/post/124914927218/its-raining-and-u-forgot-your-umbrella-so-come) combined with, “we would have been childhood friends if one of us hadn’t moved away.”
> 
> For the record: Kuroo DID break the awning, after a round of rough housing with Bokuto. To make amends, he ferries people from their schools to the bus like a living Charon.
> 
> Ahhh, I’m two months late finishing this fic. Ran into some bumps. I considered going out with a bang, but after starting and scrapping four other AUs, I settled for this one. It’s not explosive in the slightest, and I think it’s better this way.
> 
> A huge hug to anyone who followed along. This was an interesting project, getting to experiment and all that. I find Kuroken difficult to write, and it means so much to me when people tell me they enjoy my writing. So, thank you!!!


End file.
